


incomplete kisses

by rapweezer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Gigi, sixth form AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 14:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13389696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapweezer/pseuds/rapweezer
Summary: It's nearing the end of sixth form and Zayn and Liam somehow manage to have it out. Liam reflects and Zayn resolves (like he always does).





	incomplete kisses

**Author's Note:**

> This is a reupload but it's my fic, I'd just posted it to another account a while ago and deleted it! This account is for my Zayn/Liam fics.

Zayn comes over on Wednesday, the second time that week. He brings his Macbook, his headphones, his portfolio folder and his rucksack that gets hefted around everywhere he goes. Liam’s mum is delighted to see him like always. She asks about Zayn’s unfinished canvases, portraits, sketches. Zayn’s face lights up.

Zayn’s more reserved towards the end of academic years. He likes quiet company, having one earphone in the left side, music coming through quietly, near silence in the right.   
Liam is always to his right, on his bed or when they work outside (Zayn likes that, while Liam maintains internal frustrations over the white of his paper blinding him and the breeze curling the corners of the sheets inward). 

It rained one tme they were working outside, Liam remembers, right onto Zayn’s medley of pastel, acrylic and watercolour. He said he liked it and that it added something more to his vision. Liam felt slightly creatively inadequate with his 25-page cognitive psych guide.

He doesn’t talk, is what’s weird. Zayn vents when he’s stressed, to their friends, especially Louis. He knows it’s a healthier coping method than bottling it up. He’s loud with Louis and he gets messy drunk with Louis around. 

But he is so mellow with Liam. 

They eat together, talk about saving up for Reading & Leeds; about applying for student accommodation and meeting their future flatmates. Zayn has a folder of French New Wave films on his laptop that he likes watching for art inspiration, and he laughs when Liam cringes at his suggestion to watch one together. 

They watch Scorsese films and eat mango sorbet that Liam’s mum makes. Zayn never talks about Gigi. Liam wishes he would, just once, just to ease Liam’s own anxieties. To help him out a bit with repressing his hope. Liam wants to ask about her, ask why Zayn is here when he should be with her, but he doesn’t see her as much as you’d expect to see your best mate’s girlfriend, so he leaves it since it’s none of his business.

It’s a Friday, second to last period and he’s in the gym’s changing room when Zayn’s name flashes up on his phone screen, the text reading stay in the art block with me til half 5? ill drive us home

Liam’s immediately thrown off because he knows that Gigi’s team has a sports presentation in the evening, since his coach mentioned it today, so Zayn asking him to stay back an hour before it starts makes no sense. 

He sends Zayn the thumbs up emoji anyway, tells himself it's none of his business and slips out a little before class ends, duffle bag slung over his shoulder and still in his gym shorts and Nikes. 

He walks through the double doors of the Art room feeling obscenely out of place with the regulars who look at him like they want to ask if he’s lost. They dress like they’re actually in those cheesy 80s high school films that Zayn secretly likes. The John Hughes ones.

Zayn’s always at the back of the room behind the huge cabinets, right by the floor-to-ceiling windows that have paint stains, deadlines in bold felt tip and art pieces from years ago spread out as decoration.

All he sees when he turns the corner, though, is that Zayn’s hair is a mess of waves on top of his head and he’s wearing a plain white tee with the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders, and his knee is poking through one of many slashes in his light jeans from him sitting cross-legged on a stool that looks uncomfortable. 

Both earphones are in, and the Vans he wore today sit neatly on his rucksack. Zayn doesn’t look up from the grotesquely deformed hand he’s shading with a stick of black charcoal that's made its way onto his t-shirt, arms and cheek in thick smudges. 

Liam slips out quickly before Zayn notices him to grab a few paper towels from the sink at the front, strategically avoiding eye contact and potential confrontation with Zayn’s teacher. 

He shuts off the tap and presses the water out.

Zayn looks up this time he comes over, and he gives Liam the small and private smile he hasn't seen Zayn give anyone else.

“I have to scan some things for my deadline next week,” Zayn tells him. His eyes look really, really big. He’s starting to frown because Liam is taking too long to answer.

“Yeah, yeah, all good,” Liam says. Zayn’s got acrylic paints out. 

“Your contour is a bit out of place again,” he points out, nodding at Zayn’s cheek.

Zayn’s eyes narrow, but he’s smiling with his teeth at Liam when he plucks the paper towels out of his hand. “It’s an expression of my hard work and artistic vision,” he states, wiping at his face and not even touching the shadow of grey. “I bring it to life, Liam. Like Kubrick.”

“Is your room now looking like the cat lady’s? From A Clockwork Orange.”

Zayn balls up the paper towel, aims for the bin, and misses astronomically. “You know I prefer dogs and safe for work art, babe.”

Liam really, really wishes he wouldn’t call him that. It’s also like Zayn just dumped a bucket of cold water over his head. He wants to ask aren't you not busy tonight or, Harry needed me to help with his film.

Instead he says, “Gigi’s sports presentation is tonight.”

He can see Zayn’s back tense from where he’s stood in front of the printer. His head’s down, eyes focused on tapping on the printer screen before it cranks to life. “Yeah, she’s going with Bella and they’re going to Xoyo afterwards. I didn’t feel like it.”

Liam doesn’t push it further, just grabs sheet after sheet surging out of the printer as Zayn looks at it blankly. 

He shouldn’t have to feel bad that Zayn’s not spending the night at his girlfriend’s presentation because that’s on Zayn, and Liam would like to think he keeps his selfish feelings out of every ear that doesn’t belong to Harry. 

If he and Gigi are having problems then all Liam can do is act like nothing has changed and be Zayn’s friend.

“We’ve got a couple hours to kill if you want to nag my head off,” Liam offers, hating how thick the silence is. 

Zayn laughs, but it’s forced and shallow. Liam wishes Zayn would tell him where to go sometimes instead of being so nice and collected. 

They sit back down at the table and Zayn grabs two bottles of water, a small tray of blueberries and a bag of Magic Stars out of his bag and puts it all between them.  
“She’s not actually coming to Uni with me,” Zayn says through a mouthful of blueberries.

Liam doesn’t talk, just nods for Zayn to continue.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” he continues. “I’ve known for a while that she’s too motivated to waste another three years getting qualifications. Her parents are well off and can afford to pay for her training courses upfront if she runs out of money. Either that or she keeps going with the modelling thing. Seems to be working out well for her. So, that’s it.”

“What would the training be for, then?” Liam asks.

“Personal trainer. I don’t—it’s hard to keep up with her. Got all these opportunities ahead of her and I’m just hoping I can make it through a three-year Art course alive.”  
Liam wants to tell Zayn he should be the one stressing over his uncertain future; of getting a Psychology degree and being at a stalemate. Not Zayn with all the potential in the world. 

They’re going down two completely different academic paths and it keeps Liam awake at night and Jesus Christ, they’ve been friends for two years. And Zayn just told him his girlfriend isn’t actually moving across the country with him.

Liam chugs his water and thinks about living with other people and only seeing Harry during holidays. He does not let himself think about not seeing Zayn.

“I’ll miss this place,” Zayn says softly. Liam tries to match his eye-line, to get a look at what makes Zayn look so glossy-eyed and proud. 

It’s a sculpture made of wires and metal with synthetic flowers woven into it. It’s to Zayn’s tastes, Liam thinks. A flood of colour over greys and blacks that he paints with.   
Liam looks around the mess of artwork in the room that he can appreciate as interesting in an abstract way. It makes him think of Zayn’s room, of Zayn with his black hair where glitter gets stuck for weeks.

“You’ll be amazing at London,” Liam mumbles. “Won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Zayn looks at him like he looked at that mess of wire and flower. “Come with me,” he says. 

“What?”

“London is huge!” Zayn insists. He snags his phone out of his pocket and brings up print screens of courses for Liam. “Look,” he says, moving to sit right next to Liam. There’s – he’s looked at all the available courses Liam could take as well as accommodation that would make it easy for Liam to get to his classes quickly. “There are so many flats near our blocks. We could be flatmates. They let you do that, you know. Choose.”

“Zayn—“

“I love you,” he blurts. Liam goes completely still. “Shit—fuck’s sake, it wasn’t meant to come out like that.”

Liam can’t talk, he feels sick from the butterflies and the lump in his throat is making his eyes water. He almost laughs, but it gets caught and he suddenly feels sick.

“I swear to god, Liam,” Zayn continues, voice quiet. “I think people just heard that. At least let me down easy.”

“I-“

“I’ll be in the car,” he blurts, cheeks red and eyes wild.

Liam makes his way to the car fucking furious and confused and incredibly uneasy at the possible damage done when he shoved all the shit Zayn had out into his folder and bag. All of which he is transporting awkwardly to Zayn’s car.

He gets it all in the boot and storms to the passenger seat. Zayn’s sat there with the keys biting into his palm. “Liam,” he says, carefully.

He tries his best to school his expression and swallow down the lump in his throat. “Doesn’t matter,” he manages. “Please just drive.”

“Fine,” Zayn says, quiet and bitter. 

It makes Liam feel sick, and not the kind he was feeling five minutes ago. He’s anxious and biting at his nails – a habit Zayn hates – and Zayn looks like he might stop the car right now and scream.

Zayn deflates after a few minutes, tension rinsing out of him, but it morphs into devastation and Liam doesn’t know what to say or do. 

He wants to say sorry, he wants to demand what Zayn was thinking messing with his head and his feelings like that. Mostly, he just wants to say it back, because he’s deprived himself of it for too long.

“Don’t take me home,” Liam says. “Stop the car so we can talk.”

Zayn looks at him with glassy eyes and a slack jaw. Liam wills himself to keep looking ahead.

They pull into a dip on a road that few cars pass down. There are fields either side of them and the sky looks warm and pink from the sunset. 

Zayn kills the engine but keeps the music playing quietly. Liam can still hear his own blood pounding in his ears. 

They sit for so many minutes. Hours, it feels like. They get through three songs on Zayn’s CD.

“I don't understand,” Liam mutters.

Zayn exhales slowly. It’s quiet and tired. “Everyone’s been stressing for weeks now. I’ve had Harry drunkenly crying down the phone and in my lap on more than two occasions about us all leaving each other. And you know what? I just haven’t cared enough to react like that. You know why?”

Liam shrugs. His shoulders feel so heavy. 

“For Christ’s sake, Liam! I have the next three years of our lives planned out in screenshots on my phone!”

Liam’s five seconds away from bolting the rest of the journey home. When he chances a look at Zayn, his eyes are wide and sad and it makes Liam want to cry. “You’re not making sense,” he mumbles.

Liam can feel Zayn roll his eyes. “I don’t care. Sure, moving onto a new stage of your life is scary. With new people. But not if I get to do it with you. It’s—look, this isn’t set in stone, you can do whatever you want, I just. I see us in the same flat. Making each other food. You know, like, instant noodles. The full Uni experience.”

Liam tries to laugh, but it just comes out as a weird wet noise in his throat. Zayn twists his whole body to Liam, making him face him. Christ, it would be Zayn who makes Liam forget why he was angry in the first place just by looking at him. Too gorgeous for his own good, Liam thinks.

Zayn snorts. “So are you, Jesus Christ.”

“Fucking hell,” Liam whines, pressing his palms into his eyes. “Keep talking before I embarrass myself even more.”

Zayn laughs, a real laugh that’s wet and happy.

“Anyway, yeah, living together. I want it – like it is when I come over,” he continues. “When we watch films for hours and when your mum tells me to come over the same time tomorrow, and stay over at the weekend. When I fucking told her I wanted to room with you first year and move in with you third year. When she invited herself to our theoretical wedding!”

Liam thinks about Zayn's mum, his family. Thinks about how his seat has been taken. “Your girlfriend.”

Zayn frowns and narrows his eyes at Liam like he’s a fool. “After all I’ve just said, you—did you miss the part where I said we’re not together?” 

“You did fucking not!”

Zayn’s laughing now, and this is a damn fucking mess and Liam tells him so.

“You’re an idiot, Liam Payne.”

“Excuse me,” he protests. “You're not putting this on me, thanks. We know I'm emotionally constipated and you have to do most of the work. And I'm still confused and trying not to slam my head on your fucking dashboard.”

Zayn’s shaking his head fondly, hand aiming the key into the ignition. “An idiot. And we'll work on the communication issues that we apparently have even though I thought our brains were literally in sync.” 

Liam clears his throat, “An idiot that you’re maintaining for another three years. And I love you too, for fuck’s sake.”

“Three years, and the rest.”

-

They drive to Liam’s house. His parents are working late tonight for extra cash for their next holiday, and there’s a note on the table by the front door when he and Zayn walk in.  
lasagna in oven ready to be warmed 4 u  
mum x

Zayn winds his arms around Liam’s waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder. He sees the message, plants a lingering kiss on Liam’s cheek and keeps his lips there. “I’ll really miss your mum’s amazing cooking when we’re living off beans and toast. Oh, and she spelled lasagne wrong, bless her.”

Liam turns in his arms and kicks the door shut with his foot. “That’s where my immaculate spelling credentials come from. And I have gourmet recipes memorised,” he mutters, right against Zayn’s lips where it’s warm and damp and perfect.

“Ah,” Zayn breathes. “But do you have gourmet funds?”

“I will make chicken noodles taste good.”

Zayn sets up the docking station in the kitchen as they wait for the lasagne to heat up. It’s a Kendrick song, a slow on with smooth bass at the beginning that does things to Liam.   
He pushes Zayn up onto the work top and slots himself between his legs, fingers dragging up through the short hairs at the back of Zayn’s head. They kiss for so long, and it’s so hot but also sweet and all Liam’s wanted for years. 

Zayn tastes like the blueberries, and the long and slow sweeps of his tongue over Liam’s have Liam melting and gripping onto the edge of the work top with the hand not in Zayn’s hair.

They eat in the living room with old Chappelle's Show reruns that make Liam nostalgic. They laugh, too, until it hurts, and Liam thinks about how this will be his life for the next three years.

Zayn takes both their plates, washes and dries them himself and fixes him and Liam a gin sling.

They go upstairs to Liam’s room and Zayn takes his sexy, spaced-out R&B playlist with him, which Liam is rather enjoying. Zayn switches the string lights wrapped around Liam’s bed frame on, undresses them both slowly, not keeping his lips away from Liam’s, and pushes Liam into the sheets. 

He kisses him so softly – all over his neck and chest and down his stomach where Liam’s muscles flutter. He takes Liam into the back of his throat, god, and he takes him so prettily. Liam gasps at the sight when he looks down. 

He fucks Zayn slow and long, keeping their fingers linked and foreheads pressed together. 

They stay awake for hours with the music draining softly from the speakers, talking about nothing. Their legs are a tangled mess and Zayn is laid across his chest, heavy and warm. 

“I can’t wait for this,” Zayn says softly into the dark. 

Liam’s got his fingers in Zayn’s hair again. “Hm?”

“Sex on shitty student accommodation beds with springs digging in my arse.”

Liam scoffs at him, "Nah, we're spending those big loans on the comfy beds. Might get an electric blanket, too."

"No," Zayn retorts, "You're a fire hazard, Payne."

"I don't know what you mean," Liam says, "You're responsible for turning it off before we fall asleep."

“Obviously,” Zayn tuts, and Liam can feel the eye-roll. “I’m so excited for it, though.”

“Me too. Hopefully our flatmates are nice.”

“Hmm,” Zayn murmurs sleepily, “If not we’ll just make a little hideout in my room. Keep a mini fridge and kettle in there. Sorted.” 

Liam smiles to himself, kisses his forehead, “Sleep.”

He figures Zayn’s already out before he’s said it.


End file.
